


Sea Bitch

by ThramsayLand



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Discipline, Dubious Consent, Facials, Hair-pulling, M/M, Power Imbalance, Sexual Abuse, Spanking, Strapping, Threats, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 08:07:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThramsayLand/pseuds/ThramsayLand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Bolton Fic Exchange!</p><p>Theon is sent to foster at the Dreadfort instead of Winterfell after his father rebels. At first, Lord Bolton's bastard son is unimpressed and uninterested, but soon discovers some uses for the little lordling - not to mention how much he ends up enjoying disciplining him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sea Bitch

The Lord of the Dreadfort walked at a brisk pace, paying no mind as to whether the boy was keeping up. Theon Greyjoy followed behind as quickly as he could, tripping over his feet as he struggled to keep up while swiveling his head to take in the new and overwhelming surroundings.

“Eddard Stark has charged me with your care, boy,” Roose Bolton began to speak without slowing his pace or turning his head to acknowledge Theon. “The Starks are soft, and Ned Stark would have me shield you from the truth of this arrangement until you are older, but we both know why you are here.”

Lord Bolton stopped suddenly, and Theon, who had been warily eyeing yet another flayed man sigil to his right, almost ran into the man’s back. He stopped himself short, stumbling clumsily. Lord Bolton turned to study him with those piercing, colorless eyes. Theon swallowed a dry lump in his throat.

“Yes, my lord.” Lord Bolton raised his eyebrows expectantly and Theon dropped his gaze and murmured, “If my father rebels, you’ll send him my head.”

“Smart boy,” there was no warmth in Lord Bolton’s voice. “Now, I don’t have the time or patience to take large part in your upbringing. Thankfully,” he chewed on the word with a hint of distaste, “my natural born son, Ramsay, has recently taken up residence at the Dreadfort. He is still young, but already a man grown, and will take primary responsibility for you.”

Theon was not sure how to respond or if he was even expected to respond, so he merely nodded his head.

“Ramsay is,” he paused, sighing heavily, “unusual. I was once young and foolish,” he sniffed, “Should have never permitted his whore mother to raise him. Ramsay may be a bastard with bad blood, but he is still my son, and therefore surely suited to the task of overseeing you.” Theon cringed when Lord Bolton reached forward and took his chin tightly between cold, slender fingers, forcing the boy to stare directly into those pale, dead eyes. “Obey my son as you would me.”

Theon met Ramsay Bolton later that very day. Lord Bolton’s bastard son could not have seen more than fourteen namedays. He was of average build, but soft, with slick, stringy dark hair that touched his shoulders. 

“What am _I_ to do with the whelp?” He sneered at Theon, “Everyone knows Krakens are wild and unruly. What if he gets into trouble?”

Lord Bolton sighed, looking bored. “Then you discipline him. I’m leaving his instruction to you. Do not make me regret it.”

Ramsay’s pink, spotted face contorted hideously as his thick lips twisted into a cruel smile. “Of course, father. I understand.”

The smile sent a wave of coldness down Theon’s spine. Fortunately, the bastard of the Dreadfort, as Theon heard servants mutter behind his back, mostly ignored Theon for some time. Theon had lessons with the maester and practiced sparring with other children his age under the master at arms. Ramsay spent most of his days somewhere off with his smelly servant, Reek, of whom he had unnecessarily reminded Theon several times was _his_ servant and not Theon’s.

It therefore came as a surprise when one day, just over a year after Theon had come to stay at the Dreadfort, Ramsay marched up to him and roughly cuffed him against the ear. Theon, who had been concentrating on stringing a bow, looked up in dazed shock, blinking stupidly with his mouth gaping.

“You’ll come with me,” Ramsay snarled. “Now.”

When Theon did not move immediately, Ramsay grabbed him by the hair and began to drag him across the yard. Theon yelped in pain, tears stinging his eyes as he stumbled and struggled to keep up with Ramsay’s longer strides. Few people even looked up at the fuss. Nobody gave a damn what the bastard and the Greyjoy hostage were doing. Both were nothing more than a nuisance to most Dreadfort residents.

Ramsay shoved Theon into the armory, slamming the door behind him.

“Take down your pants and bend over that bench,” Ramsay nodded towards the plank of wood and began to unbuckle his own belt.

The implication of Ramsay’s instructions and actions were not foreign to Theon, who had suffered many a thrashing on Pyke. However, while his upbringing thus far had been harsh, he had never been beaten for no reason.

“B-but I haven’t done anything!” he squeaked, his voice coming out embarrassingly high in his indignation and panic.

“You lying little cunt!” Ramsay spat at him. “My father knows you’re the one who almost burned down the kitchens last night.”

Theon furrowed his brow, confused. He racked his brain, but he had no memory of even being near the kitchens in at least a fortnight. He shook his head.

“It wasn’t me, I – ”

The curl of Ramsay’s lip was the only warning before Theon was backhanded across the face so hard he fell to the ground, ears ringing.

“We know you did it, you little shit, there’s no use denying it!”

Theon crouched on all fours, instinctively lowering his head. Ramsay jerked his belt through its loops, pulling it off and folding it in half. He snapped it menacingly and scowled down at Theon.

“I thought I told you to take off your pants and bend over that bench,” his voice was quieter and yet somehow far more frightening than when he was shouting.

Theon scrambled to obey, not wanting to give the older boy another excuse to hit him about the head. There was clearly no reasoning with the bastard, and he hoped that cooperation would speed things along. He quickly unlaced his breeches and pushed them down to his knees before bending forward and resting his elbows on the workbench. He closed his eyes and braced himself, confident that he could take a beating from this bastard. Surely it wouldn’t be as bad as those his father or brothers had dished out.

He startled when he felt Ramsay’s presence close by. The bastard pushed Theon’s tunic up to his shoulders, and Theon squirmed at the touch. Then, Ramsay reached his fingers into the back of his smallclothes and began to tug them down his hips. Theon tensed, squeezing his thighs together in an attempt to preserve modesty.

Ramsay smacked his now bare arse hard once – twice – three times. Theon bucked and gasped.

“Stop that! Be still and cooperate,” Ramsay warned, yanking Theon’s smallclothes down to join his breeches. Theon heard the thin fabric rip and tear in the process. Ramsay kept tugging until all of the clothing was bunched around his ankles. “All the way off -" he demanded, "Pick up your feet!”

Theon reluctantly obeyed, permitting Ramsay to peel away his last shred of protection and dignity. His instinct was to press his legs together, but Ramsay would not allow it. The bastard’s boots kicked at his ankles until he spread his legs apart. He stood there exposed, shivering in anticipation, gooseprickles rising on his naked skin, his arse still stinging slightly from where Ramsay had already struck him.

“Don’t move,” Ramsay said.

He took a step back before he let the belt fly, snapping it hard across Theon’s bare cheeks. Theon struggled to keep his legs spread and to stay relatively still while Ramsay lit into him. The leather cracked loudly against his flesh again and again. The lashes were unpracticed, causing the edge of the belt to welt and cut, drawing forth tiny droplets of blood. It felt as though his skin was being stripped from his backside. In his effort to be still, Theon cried out as the intensity of the pain grew to unbearable levels.

Ramsay laughed, “You wail like a bitch, Greyjoy. Like a _sea_ bitch!” He snorted at his own perceived cleverness.

He brought the belt down wildly, the tip stinging the tender place between Theon’s cheeks and coming dangerously close to striking the small sack hanging between his legs.

“Keep those legs apart, sea bitch!” Ramsay warned when Theon jerked and tried to squeeze himself together in response to the painful blows.

Theon whimpered, tears streaming down his cheeks, but he obeyed with trembling legs, and Ramsay gave him several more sharp lashes before finally stopping. Even over the sound of his own sniffs and sobs, he could hear the bastard’s breath behind him, thick and heaving.

Theon’s backside throbbed. This thrashing had been so different from those on Pyke. This had been humiliating, long, and methodical. He desperately wanted to reach back and rub at his scalded tail, but he dare not move with the bastard still hovering threateningly behind him.

Ramsay reached out and let his fingers dance along the fresh welts before cupping Theon’s bottom and giving it a squeeze. He trailed a finger down the cleft of Theon’s arse, and Theon squirmed, twisting in a desperate attempt to escape the horrible, intrusive, _intimate_ touches. 

“Stop, please!” Theon begged.

Ramsay grabbed a fistful of Theon’s hair and pressed his head down, crushing his face against the wood of the table.

“Be still!” Ramsay bent over his back, his breath tickling Theon’s nape. He gave the burning flesh of his arse another squeeze, and then shoved off of him, backing away and leaving Theon trembling.

Theon waited for what felt like ages before taking the risk to turn his head and look. Ramsay stood staring at Theon’s abused backside, idly palming at the front of his breeches. In his free hand, he held Theon’s pants and smallclothes. Theon eyed them hopefully, wanting nothing more than to be dressed again.

Ramsay snapped out of his stupor and stopped touching himself, scowling at Theon. “I should make you walk back to your room without them,” he said, giving Theon’s clothing a pointed shake. "Should let everyone see just how well their future lord deals out punishment."

Theon flushed red, terrified and embarrassed at the thought. “Please, please, no," he whispered.

Thankfully, Ramsay tossed the clothing at Theon’s feet. “You owe me a debt, then, sea bitch.” He turned and left Theon alone in the armory.

******

That very evening Ramsay Snow got drunk and took Theon up on his debt. He forced the younger boy to his knees, and when Theon's bruised and aching bottom made contact with his heels, he winced in pain. However, he was soon distracted from the discomfort when the bastard unlaced his breeches and shoved his cock between Theon’s lips, warning him to mind his teeth.

Theon was inexperienced and sloppy, slobbering and choking as Ramsay fucked his mouth, but the bastard moaned in pleasure, clearly appreciating his efforts. Ramsay gripped Theon’s hair, grunting obscenely. He pulled out suddenly, slowly wiping the tip over Theon’s puffy lips.

“Did you know, Greyjoy,” he murmured. “ _I_ was really the one who started the fire in the kitchens, but when my father asked me about it, I blamed you, and he _believed_ me! My father told me that I had to punish you, since your discipline was my responsibility. I thought it would be a bother, but I'll tell you what, sea bitch - it was truly my _pleasure_.” 

He laughed cruelly and thrust into Theon’s mouth again. “Nobody would believe a word you said anyway. You’re nothing but a hostage, remember? Your shit father will likely rebel soon anyway, and then we’ll kill you.” He grinned. “Perhaps my father will let me do it. I couldn’t believe it when my father agreed to bring you here. I figured you’d be nothing more than a useless bother. Well, it seems like I’ve found some uses for you after all, _sea bitch_.”

Ramsay’s thrusting increased in vigor, and he pounded into his mouth until he gasped and stuttered, pulling out and shooting his seed onto Theon’s face. He reached forward and smeared the milky substance across the boy’s lips. “Tastes good, doesn’t it, _sea bitch_? I bet you miss the taste of salt. Don’t worry – there's plenty more where that came from.”


End file.
